


little things define (so i'm going to be better)

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Light Angst, POV Scott, Parent-Child Relationship, Scott Centric, Scott Feels, mother/son relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 17:56:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1574453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hears his mother come in late some nights, moving silently around the house so she won't wake him, even though he's been up ever since the old lady from across the street read him a story and tucked him in.</p><p>(He had told his mother that he didn't need stories, or bed tuckings anymore, because he was nine years old and she had just sighed.</p><p>“Mrs. Coleman is the easiest option,” she had said. “Can you handle it, for me?”</p><p>She had sounded so tired that he had nodded, guilt eating away at him while he did because she didn't need to worry about something so trivial).</p>
            </blockquote>





	little things define (so i'm going to be better)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this to avoid writing my other fic because i'm horrible and get distracted easily.
> 
> this has not been beta'd.

He hears his mother come in late some nights, moving silently around the house so she won't wake him, even though he's been up ever since the old lady from across the street read him a story and tucked him in.

(He had told his mother that he didn't need stories, or bed tuckings anymore, because he was nine years old and she had just sighed.

“Mrs. Coleman is the easiest option,” she had said. “Can you handle it, for me?”

She had sounded so tired that he had nodded, guilt eating away at him while he did because she didn't need to worry about something so trivial).

On those nights when he's up and she opens his door to check on him, he buries his face in his blankets and evens out his breathing until it looks like he's fast asleep.

Sometimes, she leaves right away, closing the door gently behind her before making her way down the hall to her own room, but there are nights where she creeps into his room and sits on the edge of his bed. She runs her fingers softly down her cheeks, like she used to when he was little and it was hard to sleep (sometimes, from stomachs that hurt or the way he felt like something was pounding on his head but, more often than not, because he could hear his father raging downstairs, shattering glasses and pictures and whatever reminders of a long dead happiness remained).

She brushes his hair back on those nights, too, and kisses his forehead gently because he won't let her do it when he's awake anymore. He's growing up. It's not cool to let your mom kiss your forehead or hold your hand when you're nine, but it's okay if she thinks you're asleep.

“Goodnight, Scott. I love you,” she always whispers, regardless of whether she comes in that night or not.

He always waits until he knows she's asleep in her own bed before he creeps into the room, pull her blankets up the same way she used to do for him. 

“I love you too, Mom.”

__

“Is your mom okay?” Stiles asks once, when they're eleven and watching cartoons.

Scott looks over at the kitchen table, where his mom was eating, but now rests her head on it with her eyes closed. 

“She's fine,” he says with a shrug, before reaching for the remote and shutting off the loud loud television. “C'mon, let's go ride our bikes.”

Stiles looks like he's going to argue, but they're good enough friends that Scott doesn't need to say anything for him to drop it.

“Okay. I have to go get mine from the back, though,” Stiles adds, before darting out of the house.

Scott waits until he hears the door shut behind him before he goes over to his mother, shaking her by the shoulders.

“Mhmm?” Melissa looks up, blinking sleep out of her eyes. “Oh, shit,” she breathes. 

“Can Stiles and I go ride our bikes?” Scott asks.

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. But don't go past the playground, and don't let Stiles convince you to bother the Rivers. I don't need another angry old man knocking on my door.”

“Mr. Rivers put up a new fence anyway. It's higher. Stiles can't climb it,” Scott says, with a bit of disappointment in his voice.

Melissa shakes her head fondly. “Go play, Scott.”

Scott wrinkles his nose. “We're not playing. We're hanging out.”

“Whatever,” she says, waving a hand before standing. “If you need me, I'll be watching tv.”

She's asleep again before he's even out of the house.

__

It turns out that Stiles can climb Mr. Rivers' fence.

“My mom said we shouldn't,” Scott had protested and Stiles had scoffed.

“We're not doing anything bad. We just accidentally threw our football over the fence and now we need to get it back,” Stiles said, which was the truth. Kind of. Their football had gone over the fence, but Scott doesn't think it was an accident on Stiles' part, considering Stiles had to aim pretty far to Scott's left to miss him and make it into Mr. Rivers' yard.

Still, he doesn't say anything more until Mr. Rivers comes bursting out of his house, yelling about no good kids ruining his garden, grabbing them both by the shirt collars before they can try to run.

“I told you we shouldn't,” Scott grumbled while they were led down the street.

“Actually, you said your mom said we shouldn't,” Stiles corrects.

Scott glares at him until he flinches and looks away.

All the annoyance he feels towards Stiles (for being stupid enough to want to try this again, because really, it hadn't gone well last time when Mr. Rivers had thrown the tomatoes they had been trying to pluck from his garden -for a snack, Stiles had said; he wouldn't miss them-) and himself (for being stupid enough to go along with it) transforms into a suffocating blanket of guilt when his mom opens the door and looks at him with eyes that shine with disappointment. 

__

The Sheriff drags Stiles away by the shirt collar, apologizing profusely to Mr. Rivers.

“You're not gonna make me scrub the bathroom floor again are you?” Scott hears Stiles ask while they go. “Cause that was gross. I'm still traumatized from cleaning around the toilet.”

“No, kid,” the Sheriff says, opening the passenger door of his car for Stiles to climb inside. “This time, I think I'll be a lot more creative than that.”

Mr. Rivers watches the Sheriff go before he turns back to Melissa, mouth turned down in a frown that Scott thinks might be the only expression his face is capable of.

“I'm so sorry,” Melissa says. “It won't happen again.”

“And that's what you said the last two times,” Mr. Rivers says and he looks down at Scott, who does his best to hide behind his mom. It may not be the cool thing to do, but he doesn't really like when adults look at him that way. 

“Really, it won-” Melissa starts, but Mr. Rivers cuts her off.

“You know, you should get that boy an influence in his life.”

“An influence?” 

Scott can hear that tone in his mother's voice, the same tone that she gets before she yells at him, like she can't believe he was stupid enough to try that with her. He considers warning Mr. Rivers that he is stepping on dangerous ground, but he doesn't like the guy enough to do that.

“Yes, an influence. Every boy needs a father in his life, or he'll end up no good,” Mr. Rivers adds, looking back at Scott. His frown deepens. “Or maybe it's a little too late.”

“Scott. I think I left the oven on. Will you go inside, please?” Melissa asks, voice cold and quiet.

The oven isn't on when he checks it.

He slides down on the floor and tilts his head back against it, listening as his mother yells.

__

“Grounded. Don't even ask me for how long. Just go upstairs,” she had said as soon as she had come in, ages after Mr. Rivers had stormed out of their yard, muttering about disrespectful mothers and their children. Scott hadn't been sure she was even going to come back in.

She hadn't yelled at him, but the disappointment in her voice, and the way she looked so fucking tired (like she was going to fall on the ground then and there, numb and done done done) hurt him more than raised voices could. He'd gotten pretty used to them, after all.

It was the only useful thing his dad ever really did.

He sits up in his room until well past dark, and only ventures out to find something to eat, because his stomach hasn't stopped grumbling for the past hour and a half.

He can hear his mom in her room, and he knows it's wrong, but he can't stop himself from stopping outside the door with his ear pressed against it.

__

“What if he was right? Am I really doing right by him. I try, Mom, you know I do...but it can't be enough. He's a good kid, you know he is, but this? I don't know what's happening. I don't know how to fix things anymore.”

__

“I don't think I'm enough for him right now.”

__

“I'm so tired of it all.”

__

Guilt makes him feel the worst. He wants to claw his own skin off, to stop himself from drowning in it, but all he can do is sit on his bed and stare at the picture of him and his mom on his dresser. There's a big hole in the picture, where his dad used to be.

Stiles had cut him out, given Scott the paper and a lighter that he had swiped from somewhere.

Watching the paper burn had made him forget all the shouting.

__

“What's all this?” his mother asks, coming down the stairs slowly.

Scott looks up from where he's setting the table, smiling big and bright. “I made you breakfast,” he says, gesturing at the toasted waffles, the orange juice, and the sliced bowl of fruit.

Melissa smiles at him when she sits down before narrowing her eyes. “This won't get you out of being grounded.”

“I know,” Scott says with a shrug. “I don't want it to.”

Melissa blinks in surprise. Scott sits down across from her, holds up the syrup. “Want some?” 

“Sure,” she says, taking it from him slowly. “Am I dreaming?”

“No,” Scott says, but he doesn't elaborate. 

Melissa doesn't him to, though. She only watches him carefully while he eats for a few moments before digging into her own food.  
“Thanks, buddy,” she says when they're both done, getting up to start clearing plates, but Scott stops her.

“It's my turn,” is all he says, gathering dirty dishes in his arms before he goes over to the sink and starts running water.

He can feel his mother watching him while he scrubs at invisible stains on their plates.

He doesn't turn around until she leaves. 

__

“You're going to be better,” Stiles says, when Scott is finally allowed at his house again and they're lying back on his bed.

“Yeah,” Scott says.

He could say more. He kind of wants to, but he doesn't know how. Scott knows that Stiles gets it, though, because he'd been the same way sometimes.

So, he's thankful for the fact that Stiles does the same thing Scott did before. He moves on, nudging Scott with his foot.

“Does that mean you'll finally stop taking your dirty socks off in my bed?”

Scott grins. “I can't make promises.”

__

He's thirteen when his mother stops coming into his room to check on him at night, but he still waits up until he hears her come home. She hesitates outside his door, sometimes, before making her way to her own room.

He always waits until she's asleep before gets up and quietly opens the door to her room. She's asleep on top of her blankets tonight, like she just fell in bed and couldn't bother to move to change out of her scrubs, let alone get under the covers.

Scott grabs one that's folded up on the very end of her bed, drapes it over her before he puts her car keys in the little bowl on her nightstand (because otherwise she'll lose them), and sets her purse on her dresser.

“I love you, Mom,” he says, after he's shut off the light, and softly shut the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to visit me on tumblr, my teen wolf blog is sourskitles.
> 
> my personal is l0chnessa.


End file.
